Don't Cry....

In the movie A League of Their Own Jimmy Dugan, the manager of the Rockford Peaches, once yelled that there is no crying in baseball.

While that may be true, the same cannot be said for softball where crying just seems to be part of the gig.  Well, at least for ten and under girls it is.

I'm getting better at dealing with it, but I still find the whole crying thing uncomfortable.

Allow me to specify on the art of crying.  I have found in girls sports that there are two kinds of crying.  The first is the angry cry.  This is when a girl is crying but you can see flames and absolute hatred flickering in her eyes.  Oddly, it's our youngest and smallest girl on the team who is the angry cryer.  I can still see her stomping her way out of the batter's box and to the dugout with tears streaming down her cheeks but with that "I'm gonna rip somebody's head off" look. I can't remember if she wears batting gloves but if she doesn't I would be willing to bet that I could see her tiny hands white knuckling the bat as she yells "That ball was high!!!!!"  I'll have to keep an eye on that....

Now that kind of crying I can handle.  This emotion falls well within the boundaries of competitive fire and determination.  I'm good with the angry cryer.

It's the second type of cry that I have an incredibly hard time dealing with.  I'm not even sure what to call it........  It's the look more than the tears that bother me; that look of a sweet, innocent, little girl who just saw her puppy get run over by a tank on the highway.

It's enough to burn a hole in my stomach.

My first encounter with it came during 8U competitive ball.  Our shortstop at the time was (and is) a really good kid; great work ethic, great attitude...She's the kind of kid that coaches love to work with.

In 8U you are allowed to have a coach on the field for defense.  I took my spot between center and left field, right behind our little shortstop.  Tera was standing beside me in left field.

There were runners on first and second when the ball was smashed straight to C., who quickly gobbled it up.  The runner on second was late leaving the bag and I got excited thinking that this was going to be an easy double play.  All C had to do was tag the runner that was coming towards her and then touch second base.  This couldn't have worked out any better for us.

So I yelled "tag" as I pointed to the baserunner coming at her.

Unfortunately, Tera stepped into the coaching role and yelled "Go three!!!"

C, hearing both instructions simultaneously, became visibly confused, did a 360, held the ball, and did absolutely nothing; everyone was safe as a result.  She was still holding the ball when the ump called for time and thus a golden opportunity had been squandered.  The bases were now loaded with nobody out.

I gave Tera the stink eye and curtly told her that her job was to play, not to coach.

"Sorry."

Ugh.....

Then I turned my attention to C. who was still holding the ball, her back turned to the infield and staring directly at me.  At that moment in time all things around me ceased to exist.  There was no field, no teams, no ball game, no cheering parents.  There was just a little girl with the most heart wrenching look on her face.  That look as if to say, "All is lost.....The world has come to a disastrous end."

Then.......the bottom lip poked out and began to quiver.  And I went into full on panic mode.

"Oh, no.....No,no,no,no.no.....Please, don't.........Aaaaaw, maaaan."

C started to cry.  Her chest heaved and her body shook as copious amounts of lacrimal fluid poured out of her eyes and streaked down her dirty little face.  The play was over for everyone but her......her little dog was a greasy splat mark on the highway and she helplessly (and incorrectly) felt as if it were her fault.  The pain in her eyes was enough to sadden even the most hardened individual.  I shuddered as I felt a chill run up my spine.

Sniff....."Can you help me save my puppy, mister?"

Shit.....er, I mean, crap..... (I try to watch my mouth around the girls)

It was an awkward moment frozen in time.  To this day I can still see the look on her face; a haunting look that I really don't care to see again.

For a moment I simply didn't know what to do.  Up to this point I had always coached boys; and when a boy cries you tell him to "suck it up" or "be a man" or "get it under control or you're going to the bench".  But, quite frankly, I was totally afraid that if I were to use that tactic on this distraught little girl the end result would be an unhappy set of parents paying for expensive therapy once a week.

Sniff...."He wouldn't help my puppy.....wwwwwaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!"

I am so bad at dealing with awkward situations that I have been accused by Karla of being emotionally constipated.  So, needless to say, I was totally out of my element in this situation.

Picture, if you will, a newborn baby giraffe attempting to walk for the first time.  That's about as graceful as I was throughout this whole rotten endeavor.

I sheepishly made my way up to her.  C, physically, was already broke down, on the balls of her feet, ready for the next play.  Mentally, I could see that she was still stinging from the last play; the tears were still streaming down her face.

Shi.....I mean, crap.....

I felt like an uncoordinated goof ball as I put an arm around her with all the smooth subtlety of a battle axe to the forehead.  I managed to ask her if she was okay and, of course, she lied and nodded her head yes; her bottom lip still poked out and quivering.

Ok....what do I say?  What do I say?  Damn it, Tom, think!!!!!

"Um, good.  Don't, uh, yeah, don't worry about it.  You're fine, the play is over.  Let's concentrate on this one."

I quickly left and resumed my position in the outfield.

Yeah.......Emotionally constipated....Cripes.

That incident happened a couple of years ago.  From that time up till just this last weekend I have seen several girls cry and have gotten fairly good at dealing with it.......Then, it happened again.

Our center fielder, pitcher, catcher, first baseman, utility, band aid, shit we need somebody to play here -er ----- is a REALLY quiet girl.  So quiet I swear that I have seen her smile more than I have heard her talk.  And when she talks to you, you have to lean WAY over and strain so that you can hear her.  Just like C, she's a hard worker who never complains and never has to be told to hustle.  Just like C, she's a coach's dream and a real joy to work with.

So after a game that we lost, I'm caught totally off guard when I see her slunk down in a chair, tears streaming down her cheeks. The very picture of abject misery...

 "I've lost my puppy.......will you help me find him?........sniff"

OH......CRAP......

Now I had already dealt with one melt down during the game and thought that I handled it fairly well.  But this new situation reminded me way too much of the incident with C.  I quickly averted my eyes and tried to get my heart back out of my stomach.

"What's wrong with her?" Karla asked, "Is she okay?"

And that's when I chickened out...."She'll be alright....She's with her family; I'm sure they have it under control."

I already talked to one crying player today....I've reached my quota.  I'm sure she is fine.

Chicken shit......

I talked to Karla a couple of hours later and we concluded (Karla said)  that I needed to reach out to make sure that the girl was ok.

I didn't call for fear of hearing a gut wrenching story......I just wasn't prepared for that.  So I text the girls mom instead, praying her daughter wasn't upset about something I may have said or did.   But, to my immense relief, she was okay.....She was just disappointed that we lost.

Mom and Dad had it under control and I couldn't be happier about it.

But, next time I know I will need to man up and do a better job of dealing with it.  I am her coach, after all.....

Man,  I sure hope this gets easier as the girls get older.  This whole crying thing can't go on forever, can it?

There IS crying in softball......Boy, is there crying in softball....

I guess if I were to compare baseball to a movie it would be Conan the Barbarian...It's manly, it's tough, there is NO crying.

Softball is Conan the Barbarian that somehow got remnants of The Notebook written into the script; and this old baseball player still finds moments where the sappy sadness is too much to deal with.  Holy Moly, girls, it's just a game...Please, stop with the waterworks........

I'd almost rather have someone go stark raving nuts and break things in the dugout than to have some poor girl go through an emotional meltdown.  I completely understand anger and am equipped to deal with it.

I wonder if I can get my little angry cryer to teach the other girls how to cry angry?.......That would make me fell much better about things.

"Have you seen my puppy, mister?.....Sniff....."

Shit.........